Wickham’s face had gone ashen. “Those debts were incurred in good faith?—”
“They were incurred with no intention of payment,” Darcy corrected coldly. “Fortunately, I have purchased them all. Every last farthing. Which means, dear Wickham, that you now owe me rather a substantial sum.”
“I don’t have?—”
“No, I don’t imagine you do. Which is why I have taken the liberty of consulting with the local magistrate regarding debtor’s prison. King’s Bench, I believe, is considered the most suitable accommodation for gentlemen in your circumstances.”
Elizabeth watched Wickham’s collapse with a mixture of fascination and satisfaction. The man who had terrorized her with his smooth lies and veiled threats was crumbling like poorly constructed pastry.
“There must be some arrangement we can make,” Wickham said. “Some accommodation between gentlemen?—”
“Gentlemen,” Darcy repeated with devastating precision, “do not attack other gentlemen on lonely roads. They do not steal marriage documents that secure an infant’s inheritance. They do not spread malicious lies about innocent women. I fear, Wickham, that you forfeited any claim to that title long ago.”
The sound of carriage wheels on gravel drew Elizabeth’s attention to the window. A plain black coach had drawn up before theentrance, and two uniformed men were climbing down from it with the purposeful movements of authority. They were followed by an official-looking man carrying a warrant.
“Ah,” Darcy said with satisfaction. “Right on time.”
Graham appeared in the doorway. “The magistrate has arrived with the officers, as requested.”
Wickham’s eyes widened with sudden panic. He lunged toward the side door, only to find it blocked by Graham’s solid frame.
“This is preposterous,” he shouted. “I have done nothing but render a service to this family!”
“You have stolen documents, spread malicious lies, and attempted extortion,” Elizabeth said calmly. “Your ‘service’ has been remarkably comprehensive.”
“Mr. George Wickham,” announced the magistrate as he entered with the stern-faced officers, “you are charged with theft, fraud, and conspiracy in highway robbery. There is also the matter of a stolen horse and curricle near Barnet in December of 1811.”
The men efficiently secured Wickham’s wrists with heavy manacles.
“You cannot prove any of these lies,” Wickham snarled, still looking for an escape. “It was Mr. Collins who committed these offenses. I suggest you look at the curate of Barnet.”
“On the contrary.” Darcy extended a folio to the magistrate. “These documents, along with sworn testimony from multiple witnesses, establish a clear pattern of criminal activity by Mr. Wickham.”
“I thank you, Mr. Darcy, for the thorough investigation,” the magistrate said. Turning to the officers, he ordered, “Take the prisoner to York Castle to await trial at the next Assizes.”
“What will happen to him?” Elizabeth asked.
“He can hang for the horse theft,” the magistrate replied. “But the most likely sentence for robbery and assault is transportation to a penal colony. Australia, hard labor camp.”
The constables led a protesting Wickham away. Elizabethallowed Darcy to comfort her, folding her into his embrace. The shadow that had haunted their family for two years was finally dispelled.
“Well,” she said to Darcy once the sounds of departure had faded, “that was considerably more satisfying than I had anticipated.”
“Justice usually is,” Darcy replied, slipping his arm around her waist. “Though I confess I would have preferred to call him out.”
“My bloodthirsty husband,” Elizabeth said fondly. “I believe your restraint does you more credit.”
They returned to the morning room to find the family gathered around the fire, the official church documents spread across the table like a vindication of faith.
“So it is finished,” Lady Eleanor declared. “William’s inheritance is secure, your marriage is officially recognized, and Mr. Wickham faces the consequences of his crimes.”
“All that remains,” Georgiana added with a smile, “is to decide how to celebrate our first Christmas as a properly constituted family.”
“Shall we retreat to Pemberley or perhaps join your relations in London?” Lady Eleanor asked.
“I have a letter from Jane inviting us to Netherfield Park,” Mary mentioned. “Although I doubt we’d want to call at Longbourn.”
“Aunt Catherine prefers Rosings Park,” Georgiana said. “Cousin Anne wrote that she is quite reconciled to Brother’s marriage to that country lass. She would like to meet the little heir of Pemberley.”
